A Cup of Tea

Nan-in, a Japanese master during the Meiji era (1868-1912), received a university professor who came to inquire about Zen.


Nan-in served tea. He poured his visitor's cup full, and then kept on pouring. 

The professor watched the overflow until he no longer could restrain himself. "It is overfull. No more will go in!"

"Like this cup," Nan-in said, "you are full of your own opinions and speculations. How can I show you Zen unless you first empty your cup?" 

Source

Remain what you are

It was a summer evening, and we were all sitting outside in the open space
by the well. Suddenly one of the visitors started weeping bitterly.

'I am a horrible sinner. For a long time I have been coming to you, but
there is no change in me. Can I become pure at last? How long am I to wait?
When I am here near you, I am good for a time. But when I leave this place,
I become a beast again. You cannot imagine how bad I can be -- hardly a
human being. Am I to remain a sinner forever?'

'Why do you come to me? What have I to do with you?' demanded Bhagavan.
'What is there between us that you should come here and weep and cry in
front of me?'

The man started moaning and crying even more, as if his heart were breaking.

'All my hopes of salvation are gone. You were my last refuge and you say you
have nothing to do with me! To whom shall I turn now? What am I to do? To
whom am I to go?'

Bhagavan watched him for some time and said, 'Am I your Guru that I should
be responsible for your salvation? Have I ever said that I am your Master?'

'If you are not my Master, then who is? And who are you, if not my Master?
You are my Guru. You are my guardian angel. You must take pity me and
release me from my sins!'

He started sobbing and crying again.

We all sat silent, overcome with pity. Only Bhagavan looked alert and
matter-of-fact.

'If I am your Guru, what are my fees? Surely you should pay me for my
services.'

'But you won't take anything,' cried the visitor. 'What can I give you?'

'Did I ever say that I don't take anything? And did you ever ask me what you
can give me?'

'If you would take, then ask me. There is nothing I would not give you.'

'All right. Now I am asking. Give me. What will you give me?'

'Take anything. Everything I have is yours.'

'Then give me all the good you have done in this world.'

'What good could I have done? I have not a single virtue to my credit.'

'You have promised to give. Now give. Don't talk of your credit. Just give
away all the good you have done in your past.'

'Yes, I shall give. But how does one give? Tell me how the giving is done
and I shall give.'

'Say like this: "All the good I have done in the past I am giving away
entirely to my Guru. Henceforth I have no merit from it nor have I any
concern with it." Say it with your whole heart.'

'All right, Swami. "I am giving away to you all the good I have done so far,
if I have done any, and all its good effects. I am giving it to you gladly,
for you are my Master and you are asking me to give it all away to you.'

'But this is not enough,' said Bhagavan sternly.

'I gave you all I have and all you asked me to give. I have nothing more to
give.'

'No, you have. Give me all your sins.'

The man looked wildly at Bhagavan, terror stricken.

'You do not know, Swami, what you are asking for. If you knew, you would not
ask me. If you take over my sins, your body will rot and burn. You do not
know me, you do not know my sins. Please do not ask me for my sins.'

He wept bitterly.

'I shall look after myself. Don't you worry about me,' said Bhagavan. 'All I
want from you is your sins.'

For a long time the bargain would not go through. The man refused to part
with his sins. But Bhagavan was adamant.

'Either give me your sins along with your merits, or keep both and don't
think of me as your Master."

In the end the visitor's scruples broke down and he declared, 'Whatever sins
I have done, they are no longer mine. All of them and their results, too,
belong to Ramana.'

Bhagavan seemed to be satisfied. 'From now on there is no good nor bad in
you. You are just pure. Go and do nothing, either good or bad. Remain
yourself. Remain what you are.'

A great peace fell over the man and over us all. No one knows what happened
to the fortunate visitor, for he was never seen in the ashram again. He
might have had no further need to come.

A Weary Pilgrim on the road

A famous spiritual teacher came to the front door of the King's palace. None of the guards tried to stop him as he entered and made his way to where the King himself was sitting on his throne.

"What do you want?" asked the King, immediately recognizing the visitor.

"I would like a place to sleep in this inn," replied the teacher.

"But this is not an inn," said the King, "It is my palace."

"May I ask who owned this palace before you?"

"My father. He is dead."

"And who owned it before him?"

"My grandfather. He too is dead."

"And this place where people live for a short time and then move on - did I hear you say that it is NOT an inn?"

Source

Doing Nothing

A very learned devotee asked Bhagavan (Ramana Maharshi) a question about the feeling of non-doership in Jnanis.

Bhagavan did not reply directly to the question. Instead, he looked at a little girl of around three (G.V.Subbaramayya's younger daughter) who was playing with all the things on Bhagavan's side-table.

Watching her, as she was busily rearranging and occasionally dropping books, Bhagavan's staff,etc. He asked her what she was doing.

She told Bhagavan, in the manner of all kids, that she was doing nothing. And promptly went back to attacking all the items on the table.

Bhagavan asked her again if she was doing something, and got the same answer.

Bhagavan smilingly told the questioner that this was the essence of Vedanta, i.e., Jnanis, even while outwardly appearing busy, never have the feeling that they are doing anything.

Without Fear

During the civil wars in feudal Japan, an invading army would quickly sweep into a town and take control. In one particular village, everyone fled just before the army arrived - everyone except the Zen master. Curious about this old fellow, the general went to the temple to see for himself what kind of man this master was. 

When he wasn't treated with the deference and submissiveness to which he was accustomed, the general burst into anger. "You fool," he shouted as he reached for his sword, "don't you realize you are standing before a man who could run you through without blinking an eye!" But despite the threat, the master seemed unmoved. "And do you realize," the master replied calmly, "that you are standing before a man who can be run through without blinking an eye?"



Source: http://www-usr.rider.edu/~suler/zenstory/nofear.html

No Limits, Jonathan ?

Fletcher turned to his instructor, and there was a moment of fright in his eye. "Me leading? What do you mean, me leading? You're the instructor here. You can't leave!" 

"Couldn't I? Don't you think that there might be other flocks, other Fletchers, that need an instructor more than this one, that's on its way toward the light?"

"Me? Jonathan, I'm just a plain seagull, and you're ..."

Jonathan sighed and looked out to sea. "You don't need me any longer. You need to keep finding yourself, a little more each day, that real, unlimited Fletcher Seagull. He's your instructor. You need to understand him and to practice him."

A moment later Jonathan's body wavered in the air, shimmering, and began to go transparent. "Don't let them spread silly rumors about me, or make me a God. O.K., Fletch? I'm a seagull. I like to fly, maybe ..."

"JONATHAN!"

"Poor Fletch. Don't believe what your eyes are telling you. All they show is limitation. Look with your understanding, find out what you already know, and you'll see the way to fly." 

The shimmering stopped. Jonathan Seagull had vanished into empty air.

After a time, Fletcher Gull dragged himself into the sky and faced a brand-new group of students, eager for their first lesson.

"To begin with," he said heavily, "you've got to understand that a seagull is an unlimited idea of freedom ... and your whole body, from wingtip to wingtip, is nothing more than your thought itself."

The young gulls looked at him quizzically. Hey, man, they thought, this doesn't sound like a rule for a loop.

Fletcher sighed and started over. "Hm. Ah... very well," he said, and eyed them critically. "Let's begin with Level Flight." and saying that, he understood all at once that his friend had quite honestly been no more divine than Fletcher himself.

And though he tried to look properly severe for his students, Fletcher Seagull suddenly saw them all as they really were, just for a moment, and he more than liked, he loved what it was he saw.  

No limits, Jonathan? he thought, and he smiled. His race to learn had begun. 

Richard Bach
Jonathan Livingston Seagull
Scribner, New York, 1970